


Of war preparations and bargaining chips

by orphan_account



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When the Witch came a second time, Aslan did not came to help. Kings and Queens of Narnia were forced to look for help beyond their kingdom.Some wanted gold. Some wanted furs, trade deals, or men in arms.Rabadash wanted Lucy. He got what he wanted.---Basically rewrite of practical application because I decided that it is one huge template for this betrayal-prostitute fetish. Orphaned because I have zero rights on the text.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie/Lucy Pevensie, Lucy Pevensie/Peter Pevensie
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Of war preparations and bargaining chips

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Practical Application](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748167) by [printers_devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/printers_devil/pseuds/printers_devil). 
  * Inspired by [Practical Application](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748167) by [printers_devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/printers_devil/pseuds/printers_devil). 



It would have been easier, Edmund thought, reviewing approximately the nine-thousandth report over her desk about how their sister’s latest detour had cost the Crown time and resources. It would have been easier if their sister was an imbecile or a cripple. And far more helpful to boot.

As it was, Queen Lucy the Valiant was a healer. Sweet-natured, gentle, and incapable of any magic beyond the near-miraculous setting of bones, stopping of bleeding, repair of organs and viscera, diagnosis of growths in the body well before they became dangerous, and the curing of any and all poisonings.

Her skill was tremendous — and it helped to bolster her legend when she walked among the wounded and the dying and brought them back from the brink. That much was undeniable.

But all other magics were beyond her. She could not defend herself in a fight, and worst of all, did not realize she could not defend herself. The complement of soldiers and scouts that Edmund and Peter had to send along with her in the field was tremendous and expensive.

But, praise Arslan, at long last they had called her back to Cair Paravel from the Arslan-forsaken corner of Narnia she'd been rooting around in. Susan had received their invitations to the Summer Palace from Prince Rabadash, and the three of them could keep an eye on Lucy, rather than relying on their subordinates to do it.

\- - -

"There is one more thing," Susan said when they were back in their guest suite, clearing her throat. Their surroundings were opulent; the Calormesian eagle glared down at them from every spare surface. "One more term," Susan went on. "A... personal request, from the Prince."

"Let's hear it, then," Peter said, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. Lucy, too, looked exhausted. But Edmund knew this tone from Susan, and knew that clearing of the throat, and therefore knew that whatever came out of her mouth next would be wretched.

"Rabadash would like a private audience with Lucy," said Susan. "Tonight."

Ah. Edmund's blood ran cold.

"Are you sure it can't happen in the morning?" Lucy complained. She whined, really; she was so young, barely thirteen. "I'm _tired._ I danced so much. Maron broke his arm in three places fighting, and he wanted me to heal it completely, not just set it. You'd think a fellow healer would know how draining that is, but he griped and griped—"

"I'm sure it will not take long," Edmund said, meeting Susan's eyes over the top of Lucy's head.

From the overstuffed golden armchair where he sat, Peter glanced between the two of them and frowned, suddenly. He had worked with them long enough to know when something was terribly wrong.

"He was quite insistent," Susan said. There was an edge of desperation to her voice. She went over to one of the cut crystal vases strewn around the room and plucked a lily from it, twirling it in her fingers. "He wishes to thank Lucy for saving his life, and to discuss the form Calormen’s support of Narnia will take."

"But you do all that, right, Susan?" Lucy said. "The discussing? All I do is"--she waved her marked hand, which glowed through the thick brown leather of her glove--"Heal. And put my name on the papers. And give the speeches."

"The Prince was so terribly impressed by you tonight," Susan replied, saccharine. She put the flower back in its vase. It made Edmund feel ill to hear her like this, the gentle wheedling tone in her voice. "He thought your dancing with lady Amelia was lovely, and you did so well at keeping his men alive when they were wounded. The whole court saw."

Susan walked in a circle around Lucy, and put her hands on her slender shoulders. Only when she was out of Lucy's sight did her face sag, and the horror of what she was sending Lucy into. But her tone was light, when she said, "It's very important that you please the Imperial Majesty. You mustn't say _no_ to him, not outright, even if he proposes something dreadful. All one needs to do is nod." She pressed her cheek to Lucy's temple, and Edmund saw Peter's eyebrows rise. Susan was not physically affectionate. _Yes, your instincts are right,_ Edmund ached to say, _something is very wrong here._ "I know you'll be wonderful, little sister," Susan continued. "You will lay the groundwork tonight, and I will do the rest tomorrow, once you've made Rabadash love you."

Edmund felt ill. This was what Susan did best—what Edmund had been taught to do best, too, and had fought against every day since she'd escaped the Witch. To persuade someone to their ruin, and make them believe it was the best course of action. Once, Edmund had gloried in it. Susan still did. And… Rabadash was implacable, and they could not afford to lose the alliance with Calormen, so…

"I'll do my best!" Lucy said, with a brilliant grin at the three of them. "I'll make you proud, Susan."

\- - -

One of Rabadash's handmaiden's came to collect Lucy at the second bell.

"What's this all about, then?" Peter asked, when the door was firmly shut behind Lucy and the clack of the handmaiden's steps were out of their hearing.

"Rabadash is very partial to youths." Susan said, swallowing hard.

"Is he?" Peter asked.

"Lucy bears a remarkable resemblance to Aelora."

"A passing resemblance, at best."

"And Aelora… was Rabadash's lover. And she was twelve."

"She means to say," Edmund cut in, "that Rabadash wishes to have Lucy in his bed tonight, and will not take no for an answer."

This took a moment to sink in. Edmund saw the flush rise up Peter's neck and suffuse his face.

"So you sent her off like—like a lamb to the slaughter!" Peter shouted. Never mind that Edmund had also not spoken against it.

"If there had been any other way!" Susan said. "I have dealt with Rabadash's moods for years. I know when he cannot be moved. And we need their army against the Witch, else Narnia falls. You know it."

And so on and so forth. As Edmund's fellow royals argued themselves into exhaustion, Rabadash would be circling around Lucy, telling her how pretty and clever she was. He would be offering her a drink, perhaps, and perhaps it would be drugged. Lucy would not imbibe; Rabadash would insist. Determined to _make them proud,_ she would relent and drink. She would drink too much. The Prince in deshabille, offering to help Lucy out of her heavy coat. Lucy, frozen at the feeling of a hand on her little, developing breast, desperate not to offend.

Peter sighed, reading his mind.

“Unless she will return with a trophy. Arslan gave her a knife for situations such as this one.”

As if he knew. Most likely, he did.

“I took it.”

“Susan?”

“I… expected such turn of events.”

“And did nothing to warn us?”

“I did my job. That is all you need to know.”

“Like hell! Don’t you dare to forget who the High King…”

Edmund cleared his throat quietly. "If you two mean to do this now, please go to one of the bedrooms and do so," he said. "Where you cannot be overheard from the hallway. I am the one who will care for Lucy when she returns."

They stopped speaking only long enough to glance at Edmund, and then Susan took Peter by the sleeve to drag him off into her room.

And so Edmund was alone. Perhaps by now the Prince would have Lucy gurgling on his dick. Perhaps Lucy, drugged and helpless, would be crying silently.

Edmund was the best qualified for the task of comforting her, really. His rapes had been at the hands of Winter Witch’s guests, powerful being. But for their host's personal interest Edmund would have been nothing but an uncommonly tall, gawky scullery slave. He murdered them all, later. He could do no such thing for Lucy, not yet, but he could tell her: _It will be all right. You are brave. Your body is bruised, but your mind will recover. You've done the Crown a great service tonight._

It was an hour later, when she heard the gentle rap at the door. Peter and Susan were still shouting at one another—they had moved on to arguing about the budget, what they had spent on this trip to the Summer Palace—and did not come out to attend to it.

The handmaid was already gone by the time Edmund made it to the door. Lucy looked very small and crumpled as Edmund pulled her into their chambers, though her dress was perfectly uncreased, and someone had taken the time to fix her hair before parading her through the halls. Perhaps it had even been Rabadash herself.

"Edmund," Lucy said, her voice shaking, just short of a sob.

"I know," said Edmund. He sat on the golden armchair and bade Lucy sit on his knee, but Lucy only stood before him. "Tell me what happened."

"I..." Lucy faltered, and began removing her gloves, her cloak, and throwing them on the table. "I think he liked me," she said, at last. "He gave me a glass of wine. When it was over, he wanted to talk about concessions. I didn't know what he meant, it's all Susan, but he said something about the Sun Order? And coin. Lots of coin. And help with the Witch. Those… those Red Wolfs, at Sahrnia. We haven't cleared them out, not yet."

 _The fists of the Sun._ Arslan. They were more than warriors. They were Rabadash's vanguard troops, his siege-breakers, living legends, Calormen’s greatest daughters and sons. He must have been well pleased with Lucy in his bed, if he'd offered them up. "You did very well," Edmund said. "Susan will be proud."

It was only at this that Lucy burst into tears, into great, wracking, quiet sobs, and Edmund opened his arms.

As Edmund ran a hand up and down Lucy's back and through her soft, dark hair, he was thinking:

Lucy was horribly expensive to maintain as an asset. She was charming in her own way, but she had no use in a war, beyond staying behind a vanguard of companions and templars and closing rifts. But whatever she had done to Rabadash had been enough to secure Calormen’s dogs of war for the war with the Witch. That... that could be useful.

It was a dishonorable thought. It was unworthy of him. He had tried for years to be better than his worst impulses.

"Tell me what he did to you," Edmund said, and held Lucy close.

Lucy sniffled and tried to pull herself back together. Pathetic. "He put his hand on my back," she said. "Then he put his hand on my leg."

Edmund put her hand on Lucy's thigh and drew a long, slow circle on it with his thumb. He was not, it seemed, better than his worst impulses. "Did he?"

"And—and he told me how he'd seen me do so well tonight," Lucy babbled. "He said the Game was dangerous, and I navigated it perfectly. Like a master."

All Susan's coaching. Susan's words in Lucy's mouth. So much effort in training the poor girl, the best dancing masters, the best diction tutors to get English out of her speech, so much _money_ , for a ten minute performance. "And then?" Edmund asked, and squeezed her thigh. "After her hand?"

"My trousers," said Lucy. "He told me to undo them. And then he put his hands on me. Brother, I've heard about sex before, I'm not a fool, I knew what he wanted from me, but it was just awful—he's the Prince, and we need help, and Witch is coming, and…”

"Hush," Edmund said firmly, and drew back long enough to undo Lucy's trousers. His mouth was dry, but there was a terrible thrill in this, how Lucy's blank, uncomprehending eyes watched his hands. "You're the Queen of Narnia. You did very well for the Crown. You know that, don't you? How many thousands of people were counting on you? "

Lucy did not react. Edmund bent over to undo Lucy's boots, which had only been half-laced, and helped her step out of them. Lucy allowed herself to be moved like a doll, stiffly, mutely. "Not just our soldiers," Edmund went on. "Our cooks. Our clerks. Our messengers. They will all be safer, because you did this thing, and did it well."

Finally, a nod. A slim, slight motion. The girl had withdrawn into herself, was building walls to keep the experience out. "Tell me what else he did to you," Edmund said sharply, like a slap. In the room behind them, Susan and Peter were still shouting. There was the sound of something expensive shattering—that would be Susan, in a rare true temper—and Lucy flinched. " _Tell_ me," Edmund repeated, taking Lucy by the chin and forcing her to meet his gaze.

"He wanted me to be naked in front of him," Lucy said, her voice and face stark. She shifted from foot to bare foot. They had persuaded her to wear boots, but never socks. "He said that he liked the look of me. That I looked, that I felt... fresh. That he wanted to see how badly I wanted to cement the Crown’s new alliance with Calormen. And then he took of his pants.”

Edmund ran his hand up Lucy's flank, as Rabadash might have. His hand came to rest on one of her small, only growing breasts, and Lucy looked as though she wanted to cry again. But she did not argue or fight, as she surely had not with Rabadash.

 _Good,_ Edmund thought, running his thumb over one of Lucy's nipples, feeling Lucy's shiver wrack her little body. _Use this. Break her to the wheel. She can be useful, for once._

"And then?" Edmund asked. Something else broke in the room behind them, and Peter bellowed something indistinct. Lucy closed her eyes against it, and against the feel of Edmund's mouth, sucking at her through the fabric. Her hands went to Edmund's shoulders, as though she meant to push him away.

"I got on my knees," Lucy said. "And I—I—"

"Did what you had to do, for your Crown," Edmund finished for her. "And now I will reward you."

"No!" Lucy found it in herself push at Edmund. "No! Please, I don't want this--"

In one smooth movement, Edmund pulled Lucy's trousers down her legs, to pool at her ankles. She was not wearing anything beneath them. Rabadash, Edmund realized, must have kept her smallclothes. "It does not matter what you want," he hissed, holding sister’s chin once more, in a bruising grip, and forcing Lucy to look into his eyes. "It does not matter what any of us want. It matters what you _must do_. Do you understand?"

Nothing. Then, the most minuscule of whimpers, hardly an exhale. Edmund thrilled to it, and helped Lucy out of her trousers, one leg at a time. He stood, towering over her, then lay her down on the soft, plush carpet, half-kicking her legs from under her as they went.

She was thirteen, and such she was hairless between her legs. Lucy's breasts were small and firm, and her belly taut, but with more of her ribs visible than Edmund preferred. He pulled a knife from his boot and cut Lucy's undershirt open, slowly and deliberately, and Lucy lay limp and stared up at her in a blind, doe-like horror.

The pulse in Edmund's crotch was throbbing, as he cut. He was a villain, but he was not this sort of villain, or so he had thought, but now he understood the appeal. A helpless girl, splayed out beneath him, too frightened to move, or whimper, or cry. This had been what Witch’s guests had seen in him, so many years ago. Edmund knelt over Lucy and kissed the tender underside of one of her breasts, and felt the tremor in the poor girl's body. It was electric. He moved her lips upward, to one of her sweet, brown nipples, and latched his mouth to it, sucking violently, until Lucy's hands went to the back of her head. But he only moved to Lucy's other breast, until it was sore and Lucy cried out in anguish.

"Lucy," Edmund said, resting the point of his chin on Lucy's sternum. "I am rewarding you. Enjoy this." He ducked his head and kissed Lucy's flat belly, the unsightly protrusion of her ribs, then moved down, to her bellybutton. Edmund lingered there, gazing up at Lucy's terrified face, enjoying the moment of suspense.

"Stop," Lucy said weakly, pushing at Edmund's head. Her eyes were full of tears now, her lower lip wobbling pathetically. Edmund did not care. In a smooth motion, as he would a lover, he hitched one of Lucy's legs up over his shoulder and set his mouth to the girl's recently deflowered cunt.

To Edmund's tongue Lucy's juices tasted bitter, but to her credit, she did not cry out. She was not wet, either; she was tight, too, and Edmund had to work a finger into her passageway painstakingly, with only his own saliva to ease his way in.

"You like this," Edmund murmured, sawing that finger in and out of her ungently, propping himself up on an elbow to watch Lucy's face contort with tears. "Did you enjoy it? An attractive man, kissing you, licking you, fucking you. He loved it, I am sure. Were you imagining me on his place? Peter?" Lucy's sudden stillness, the way she bit her lip, told Edmund that he had struck on the truth. "Of course it was Peter. He is the pretty one. You want our brother, don’t you?"

The only response was Lucy's juddering breaths, as her slender little hands scrabbled at Edmund's rougher, stronger one. Casually, Edmund plucked them away and set them at his sides. "None of that," Edmund said. "Lay back and take your reward."

Lucy's cunt was still dry as a bone, and she tried to shrink into herself under Edmund's gaze, her eyes going far away. Edmund would not let her, and he slapped the inside of Lucy's thigh, bringing her back to the world.

He lowered his mouth to Lucy's sweet folds and licked a long, slow stripe from her cunt to her clit, and stayed there, sucking, circling, trying to see what the girl liked. Lucy's hips jerked, and she moved reluctantly against Edmund's hand. Her passage, slowly, incrementally, grew wetter. Self-defence, one supposed, but no matter; Edmund added another finger, and another, crooking them upward cruelly to find the spot inside of her that would shatter her to pieces, for Edmund to rebuild later.

And it was delightful when Lucy keened and reached for the top of Edmund's head, grabbing his hair and pulling him closer. Edmund obliged her. This was a reward, after all. His own body was thrumming with want, but he did not open his trousers. What he wanted could wait.

Lucy came, bowstring-taut, biting at the back of her hand to keep from crying out. Edmund felt an ugly twist of satisfaction at the sound of it and continued, wringing a second orgasm from the violated girl, feeling her little cunt tighten more weakly around his tongue each time she found her release.

And so Edmund sat back, watching Lucy: half-dressed, chest heaving, face damp with sweat, eyes damp with tears. Arslan, but he could become used to this. The dull hardness between his legs was still there.

He was considering how best to address it—to sit on Lucy's face? To have Lucy kneel before him? - When the sound of Susan and Peter's arguing grew louder and more near.

"You are completely intolerable," Susan was saying to Peter as she burst from her bedchamber.

Peter, following close on her heels, replied, " _I'm_ intolerable? The disrespect you've shown me tonight—"

The two of them stopped in the doorway as one, gawping at the sight of Edmund and Lucy. Edmund made a show of wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand.

"Our sister did so well for us," he said before either of them recovered their tongues, still working Lucy on his fingers. Lucy had stopped openly weeping, but her chest was still heaving with sobs. "Did you know? She secured the Son’s of the Sun for you, brother. Susan will hardly have to do anything tomorrow when she talks to Rabadash."

Susan and Peter stood there for a long moment more, and it was Peter who said: "This isn't right, and yet you—"

"Don't pretend you haven't wished she was a bit more useful," Edmund said. "We can put her to work in other ways, when she isn't healing."

"You would make the three of us nothing but common pimps," Susan said, her voice shrill. "The Crown stands for—"

"Don't pretend you've ever had a care for the righteousness of our cause," Peter muttered darkly. "Son’s of the Sun, you say? At my disposal?"

"The very one," Edmund said. He left Lucy on the floor and moved to sit on the chaise so that he might watch the show. Peter was on occasion a man of sense, he thought. Or, judging by the fixed way he was staring at Lucy's rumpled, trembling form, he wanted a turn at her next.

"We cannot," said Susan. "We'll be found out. It's too much of a risk to our reputation."

"Of course you're only worried about being found out. You should have thought about that before you sent Lucy off to Rabadash's bedchamber," said Peter. Susan glared up at him. "If you hadn't agreed to this mad bargain, Edmund would never have gotten this idea into his head."

"Perhaps we should table the issue," Edmund said, flicking a piece of imaginary lint from his jacket. "Revisit it on the morrow. We've all had a very long evening. The Game does wear on one so."

"No!" said Susan. "Under no circumstances will we—will we whore our sister out to those with enough coin to buy her—"

"Whore her out again, you mean," Peter interrupted.

Neither Susan nor Peter was much interested in Lucy's opinion, it seemed, and Lucy stared emptily up at the beautifully plastered ceiling as they argued about how they should dispose, or not dispose, of her virtue. Edmund let them continue in this vein for a time, until he was bored with their endless recriminations.

"Enough of this," he said, standing up and clapping her hands. The two of them nearly startled, so focused they'd been on their argument. "Brother, you are surely sick of good soldiers dying over a foolish little girl with a hole instead of brains. Susan, our sister costs a fortune to maintain. So long as we're saddled with her, we may as well earn a return on our investment, yes?"

At Edmund's feet, Lucy started weeping openly again. The poor, pitiful thing, hearing of herself spoken of as a piece of unwanted baggage, after she'd gone through so much tonight. It had started in a triumph to be spoken of across all kingdom and ended in her rape, twice-over. Susan had the grace to seem distraught at the sound of Lucy's sobs. Peter, however, was clearly used to the sound of young maidens crying. Something changed in his face: his eyes went flat, and his mouth set into a grim line. It would have been more disturbing if Edmund had not seen the war with his own two eyes. After city sacking, rape usually followed.

Edmund allowed his gaze to dip lower: Peter was half-hard already, and stood stiffly. He _did_ want a go at little Lucy. That was useful.

"She's just a girl," Susan said.

Harshly, Peter said, "We ask girls younger than her to kill and die for us. What we'd be asking of out sister is light work."

For once in her life, Susan was plainly at a loss for words. She looked from Edmund, to Edmund's fingers, and back to Peter, and never once at the their sister.

"I think you've been outvoted, Susan," Edmund said, pulling out of Lucy and wiping his hand briskly off on the girl's thigh. "Brother, do give our Lucy another reward for a job well done tonight."

Peter needed no further encouragement. He dropped to his knees between Lucy's legs and set about removing the rest of her clothing, moving her about like a ragdoll, until she was fully nude before her brother. In truth, Edmund had never found Lucy particularly attractive, but he could see the appeal for someone like Peter: she was small, and had a very pretty mouth, and gave off an air of innocence even as Peter thrust two fingers into her sopping cunt.

Having recovered senses, Susan edged around Lucy and Peter as though she was going to excuse herself. Edmund had no intention of letting her go so easily. He took Susan by the wrist and dragged her down into his lap, putting an arm around her middle to hold her fast, even as Susan protested, but, wisely, did not struggle.

"I cannot believe you," Susan squeaked, watching Peter work a third finger into Lucy, then a fourth, stretching her out obscenely. "Edmund, we both know this is madness—"

" _You_ did this, Susan," Edmund murmured into Susan's ear. He held Susan's neck lightly and slid his fingers up to her chin to hold her in place, make her watch. Susan's pulse fluttered under his fingers like a trapped bird, but she did not fight Edmund's grip. "Tell me, how many people asked to fuck the Valiant Queen," Edmund asked, "before you yielded to Rabadash?"

Susan swallowed hard. Edmund undid the first button of her dress, then the second, feeling the smooth skin of her throat and chest with hiss free hand. "Edmund, don't," Susan said, her hands clenched into fists at her side.

"Tell me," Edmund said.

"Too many," Susan sighed, her body sagging into Edmund's. She let her head fall back against Edmund's shoulder in a parody of affection; Edmund would have found it sweet, if it weren't so plainly fake. He undid the final button and peeled the jacket open, and pulled the fine linen dress underneath up to expose her underclothes. "'She's only fourth in line,' they say to me," Susan continued, shakily now, as Edmund unlaced the front of her short corset.

With a soft, satisfying noise, the corset sagged open, and Edmund peeled it off of her, tossed it on the ground. At the sound of its impact, Peter glanced up at the two of them from where he was positively mauling Lucy's tiny breasts with his mouth and teeth, and he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

"Don't gawk, Brother, you'll get nothing done," Edmund said, as he spread Susan's cunt with one hand and slid two fingers of the other into Susan's mouth. Susan accepted them reluctantly and sucked, as Peter spread Lucy's legs and ducked his head between them, licking eagerly at her, gripping her thighs so tightly there would assuredly be bruises in the morning. There were already angry red bitemarks rising on her chest and over her stomach.

Watching the scene play out before them, Susan squirmed in Edmund's lap as Edmund ran his fingers through her folds, up to her bare breasts, tweaking her nipples gently, never lingering long enough on her clit to give her any satisfaction. Every once in a while, Peter looked up at the two of them and groaned at the sight of Susan spread open before him before turning his attention back to Lucy. Once again, he had two broad, rough fingers inside of her, and Lucy softly cried.

Susan sucked hard at Edmund's fingers and tried to grind herself against his hand; Edmund withdrew his touch. Susan did not deserve to come, not yet.

On the floor, Peter sat back on his heels, sliding his cock through Lucy's sopping folds, not yet entering her. Lucy looked terrified, transfixed on the organ between her legs, and with good reason, Edmund supposed: Peter was thick as well as long, and their sister was so very small.

"Save it, brother. We want to at least pretend the next nobleman to ask to fuck her is our sister’s first cock," Edmund said.

Peter came away from Lucy only very reluctantly and got to his feet as if in a daze, with a lingering glance over her body, her flushed skin, her mussed hair. He squeezed at the base of his ruddy cock tightly and looked a bit lost, and so Edmund decided to have pity on him. He'd lost good soldiers tonight, after all.

He stroked Susan's hair once, not unaffectionately, then gave her a little shove from his lap, and enjoyed her little stumble as she fell into Peter's arms. "Have Susan instead," he said.

Lucy rolled onto her side on the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest. It pushed her little ass to his side, almost invitingly.

"Go to bed, Lucy," said Edmund. "You've done well. We can discuss this tomorrow."

Painstakingly, Lucy stood. She fixed Edmund with a look of the deepest, most dismal hurt imaginable; Edmund waved her aside, as the girl was blocking his view of whatever Peter was doing to Susan.

As it turned out, he was kissing her, or trying to. Susan had given up all pretense of compliance and fought tooth and nail to get out of his grasp, while he held her around the waist, crushing her to his body, to his hard cock. Truly, it would be better for the two of them to work it out here at than to carry their animosity back home with them.

And so Edmund watched as Peter lay her ungently on the floor beneath him. Susan made him earn every inch of it, clawing at the pale skin of his shoulders, his chest, kicking anything she could reach. But she was soft and weak, and it was a simple matter for Peter to take both of her wrists in one of his, pinning them over her head, and settle himself between her thighs. He pressed one more kiss to Susan's unwilling mouth. To Edmund's exquisite surprise, Susan spat in his face.

"Don't look at me," said Edmund, when Peter glanced up at him in surprise. "Is she wet?"

Peter had to shift positions and hold her down with an arm across her chest in order to force his hand between her legs, for all her thrashing. "As the Waking Sea," he said, and at the sound of Edmund's laugh, Susan looked furious at both of them.

"Get on with it, then," Edmund replied, his voice level, even as he enjoyed the sight of Susan's flushed cheeks. If only the Witch could see him now--Witch would deplore his methods and praise him. If Arslan could see him... well, the Crown was Edmund's now.

"Sweet Arslan, I've thought about this," Peter said to Susan. He straddled her chest, pinning her arms to her sides with his legs. The head of cock, shiny with pre-come and Lucy's fluids, brushed against her lips, and Susan clamped her jaw against the insult; he pinched her nose shut until she gasped for air and shoved it in her mouth anyway. "If you bite me," Peter snarled, voice heavy with lust, and left the threat at that. Susan, ever-practical, lapsed into an angry silence.

She lay passively and allowed her mouth to be used, choking and coughing around his cock whenever he thrust too deeply into her throat. There were tears, too, running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. Edmund sat, trying to enjoy the sight dispassionately, his very dearest sister treated by her fellow brother as nothing more than a hole, but the hardness in his crotch was undeniable. For the moment, he could bear it. He wanted to see what the two of them would do. But there was no reason not to avail himself of Susan when the time came.

With no fanfare, Peter pulled out of Susan's mouth. By this point, all of the fight had quite gone out of her, and she lay staring up at the ceiling. As Peter sat back on his heels to look down at her, she wiped the spit from her mouth with the back of her hand. She wiped her eyes, too. The two of them stared at one another in an eerie stillness, the air between them charged and heavy like the wind before a storm, and Edmund had the sense that they had forgotten him entirely. Susan sat up, took a deep breath, and—Edmund only saw her fist ball up a moment before it happened—hit Peter square across the jaw.

It was, in truth, an excellent punch, but not a very strong one. Peter's head snapped to the side more from surprise than from pain. Susan cradled her hand more in pain than in regret. With exquisite slowness, then, Peter lay himself over her, his weight resting politely on one arm, and pressed soft, gentle kisses to her abused face: her eyelids, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, her chin. Susan shuddered beneath him and pressed a hand to the back of his head. Was it real affection, Edmund wondered, or was she going along with Peter's affections—and they were affections—because it was preferable to being pinned to the ground and having her mouth fucked?

Peter parted Susan's legs with a gentle touch. He thrust into her slowly, with a deep groan, his face pressed into the side of her neck. He stayed there, fully sheathed inside her, trembling in the grips of some strong, genuine emotion.

And Susan played the part. She shoved her hips against his impatiently, she clutched at his broad, scarred back, tugged his hair, she cried out when his hand came down between her legs to play with her there.

Finally, at the sight of this, of Susan coming undone beneath Peter, it became too much to bear. The sight of the two of them, their limbs entwined--Edmund undid the top button of his pants, which he only now realized was still fully done up.

"Peter," he said sharply. He did not pause in driving into Susan, but he did glance at Edmund sidelong. The motion caused a bead of sweat to fall from his forehead to her chest. "I'm going to use her mouth. Turn her over."

He was too far gone to argue with him, and as Edmund hastily removed his trousers and sat back down on the chaise, Peter maneuvered Susan's limp, unresisting body so that he could fuck her from behind. Susan seemed to rouse herself, and braced her forearms on either side of Edmund's thighs.

"We could use her this way, too. She is still probably a maiden, there." Peter said, his voice thick as he rubbed his cock against Susan. "Sweet sister." He smoothed a hand over Susan's back, then around her front, to squeeze one of her heavy breasts in his rough palm; whatever he was doing down there, Susan's back arched into his touch.

Edmund stroked Susan's sweaty, loose hairs from back from her face, and Susan pressed her cheek into Edmund's thigh and trembled, a silent plea. "The idea has merit. We can discuss it in the morning," she said, as Peter pushed unceremoniously into Susan from behind.

Susan cried out in surprise and betrayal and looked up at Edmund, distress plain on her face. Edmund seized the opportunity to press Susan's face into her. Susan, for her part, lapped at Edmund's dick without prompting. She was good at this. She was beyond good, and didn't miss a beat, even when Peter leaned over her and thrust into her harder, so that the sound of their hips slapping against each other filled the room.

"Arslan, Susan," Edmund said, letting his head tilt back, tangling his hand in Susan's hair to hold her still. "I knew you enjoyed playing at being a flirty, but not this sort of flirty."

Susan whimpered and cried out against him, and whether it was from Edmund's words or Peter's exertions, Edmund did not much care. Susan sucked him in hard, broad movements, her small, ringed fingers clenched into fists. Edmund ground himself into Susan's face, hips working furiously as he chased that one last stroke of the tongue that would send him falling to pieces.

Meanwhile, Peter leaned over to whisper Edmund could not make out something in Susan's ear, to squeeze her throat. Susan shuddered, and then she put the whole of her mouth on Edmund and sucked, hard, and suddenly, like stones falling from a mountain, Edmund came undone. He fell back, groaning, holding a fistful of Susan's hair, as Susan worked him through it, licking and sucking until Edmund was sure her jaw ached.

No matter. It was a golden feeling. It wrung him out and left him warm and blissful. In his haze, he could not think of a reason why he hadn't fucked Susan all these long years. No, under no circumstances would they be sharing her. Peter, who had hardly noticed Edmund's climax as he chased his own, would agree. The idea of _they_ was something the three of them could discuss in the morning.

And once Edmund came down, the sight of Susan being fucked no longer held any interest for him. It was always so for him: once the act was finished, it was finished. For another partner, he would have pretended that that candle had not been blown out, but neither of them were much interested in him at this point. He extricated himself from the two of them. As he did so, Peter only redoubled his efforts, his hand reaching down between Susan's legs to play at her clit. Susan whimpered and grasped at the fabric of the chaise, eyes screwed shut and face contorted.

Edmund straightened his clothes, watching dispassionately as Susan came with a gasp and a sob, her knees falling out from beneath her, her body held up only by Peter's arm around her soft middle. Peter groaned, and his hips pumped twice as he came inside of her. Susan cried out in mingled disgust and dismay.

"Good night," Edmund said, yawning as he watched them. It had been a long and trying day, and tomorrow would be longer and more trying. There would be Lucy's feelings to soothe, negotiations with Rabadash's people for the fulfillment of promises made post-coitus, and so on, and so forth. Judging by the way Peter had not yet pulled out of Susan and was instead toying gently with her arsehole with his thumb, neither of them were going to sleep much tonight, and would therefore not be much help in the morning.

Thus did the burdens of power lay heavy on Edmund's shoulders; the earlier he took himself off to bed, the better he will bear them in the morning.


End file.
